He Is Her
by theartistformerlyknownaswmlaw
Summary: He fascinates her. He stimulates her. He has always been beautiful to her, but now he is infinitely more. He is her anchor. He is her connection to the world. He is her husband.


Sometimes she just watches him. Sometimes she will just sit and stare at him. She will watch him read, the way his eyes fly across the pages, how he will react to what he reads- a lifting of the brow, a narrowing of the eyes, a slight nod of the head. Or she watch him speak, watch his lips move and she will have to force herself not to think of those lips moving against hers. She'll watch him move, a quiet elegance, a natural grace about him. She loves to see him enter a room, taking complete control without saying a word, just by his presence. He fascinates her. He stimulates her. He has always been beautiful to her, but now he is infinitely more. He is her world.

Her eyes will inevitably find him. She's been in rooms filled with hundreds of people, temptation at every turn, pooling, burning venom in her throat. The world could be crashing down around them, chaos and fear and death. But then he will smile at her and everything else will fade away. There will only be him and her. And she will be content in spite of it all. He is her safe place.

Their children roll their eyes and laugh about how they are always touching. How they can't just sit; they have to sit and hold hands. Her hands on his shoulders, her leg pressed against his, his palm on her thigh, his fingers on her back. They don't know the almost primal need she has to feel his warmth, to feel his skin against hers. That when she isn't touching him, she feels like she is floating, drifting through this world. That he is her anchor, her connection to the world. He is her center.

When he kisses her, she swears her heart comes back to life just to skip a beat. She could spend hours just kissing him. He's meticulous, gentle, passionate and thoroughly arousing. His scent surrounds her, comforts her, excites her. He takes her breath away, makes her knees weak and her head spin, and gives her butterflies in the pit of her stomach. His hands, his strong, dexterous hands, will roam across her body, tangling in her hair, cupping her cheeks, pulling her close, clasping him to him. As if she would run away from him, as if she would ever leave him. As if she could survive without him. He is her life.

For her, it is never sex. It is always making love. When she was human and she would hear her friend's covert, giggling whispers, for it was never to be discussed by proper young ladies, she never understood the fuss. To her, it was a messy, painful chore. But then she died. It was only in her new life that she realized that there was a difference between sex and making love. She learned that everything changed when you loved and were loved in return rather than when the one you were with saw you as nothing more than a body, a thing to be owned, to be possessed. When they join, when they become one, it is a thing of beauty, life affirming and, above all else, a pleasure beyond her imagination. He is her lover.

She cannot imagine a world without him in it. When he walks from her, standing alone in the middle of the clearing, she holds her breath in fear. Every moment he is away from her is a painful eternity. He pleads for the life of their granddaughter, of their children. He pleads for their lives. She nearly collapses when they take Irina's life, hearing her screams. She fears that it is their future. He quietly asks if there is hope and everything seems to collapse in upon itself. She needs her anchor now more than ever and she takes his hand. Looks into his eyes. Kisses his lips. And she is at peace even if this is the end because he is with her. He is her everything .

When it is over and the danger has passed, when she can breathe again, when their family is whole again, they make love. And when he holds her afterwards, when she is enveloped in his arms, when she surrounded by his scent, she finally gives into the sobs that she had held back earlier. His touch heals her, his words comfort her, his body fills her. She is whole. She is safe. He is her other half.

He is her soulmate.

He is her husband.

He is her Carlisle.

a/n: this was written in a matter of hours and i have no idea whether it works or not as no one has seen it before now...


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